


Lay Right Down in my Favorite Place

by Dancains



Category: The Terror (TV 2018)
Genre: Fluff, I usually don't post things this short but I liked this, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-08
Updated: 2019-04-08
Packaged: 2020-01-06 16:29:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18392102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dancains/pseuds/Dancains
Summary: Almost guiltily, he longs for dried currants and candied peel, for the sensation of sugar melting on his tongue





	Lay Right Down in my Favorite Place

Thomas treads with careful, silent steps, a tea tray deftly balanced in his grip. While they had been sailing on open water, he would have had to accommodate for the gentle rolling and pitching of the ship's decks, but now, locked into the ice, they are left at a permanent slant.

He shifts the tray's weight into his right hand, bolstered against his chest, lifting his left to slide open the cabin door. Crozier was away on Erebus, and would soon return, so there was no need to knock. 

Oddly enough, he hears a sound from within, just as his hand grips one of the slats.

" _There _you are," a low voice hums, brimming with undisguised affection, "There you are, come in here. That's a good boy."__

__Thomas goes stock still. The voice is not the familiar drawl of his captain but the hushed murmurings of Lieutenant Little. The words send a shock through him, toes curling in his boots. Surely, he couldn't be speaking to-_ _

__"That's a good boy, Neptune."_ _

__The steward could feel his face colour in shame. Of course. Still, he could not muster enough shame not to quietly put his ear to the door._ _

__"That's a good boy...what a good dog you are, just like my Rosie. She's a dear old thing, graying around the eyes. You'd get along splendidly, I think, napping all day."_ _

__Thomas fancied that he could hear the scrape of a boot, and perhaps some rustling of broadcloth, along with the even panting of the creature, as if Little had crouched or knelt to pet Neptune properly. He could imagine strong fingers nestled in the silky blackness of the dog's coat, a comforting hand running down its flank. Little was evidently far more verbose with the animal than he seemed to be with his fellow men, and with a cheerfulness in his tone Thomas had not heard for many, many months. It made something in him ache._ _

__"What's that?" His voice was even more hushed than before, with that cooing cadence people take on when talking to a baby. "You want kisses from Neddy?"_ _

__Thomas must have let out some sound, some embarrassing grunt or whimper, because Little goes silent._ _

__"Is someone there?" rings out from the cabin, a few uncomfortable seconds later._ _

__Thomas steadies himself. "Jopson, Sir." He pushes open the door, tea tray carefully balanced before him._ _

__Little brings himself to his full height--for he had indeed been kneeling on the floor by the dog's side--looking quietly mortified. Neptune perks slightly at his arrival, but remains on his stomach, tail swaying lazily in the air._ _

__"Do you need a hand with-"_ _

__Perhaps Little took the sound as him struggling with the bulk of the heavily loaded tray._ _

__"Oh, no, Sir. Thank you," Thomas manages. It wouldn't be proper, beside the fact that he could probably perform his duties in his sleep._ _

__"He asked me to wait here for his return," says Little. "The captain. Though, it's nearly three bells. Captain Fitzjames must be detaining him with some matter or another."_ _

__"Of course, Sir."_ _

__He arranges the cups, still thankfully warm. Accompanying them is a plate with some of their very last tea cakes. The sight of them, on their little china dish, makes him think of his mother, way back when she was well, using what meager ingredients she could muster to bake sweets for him and his brother. Almost guiltily, he longs for dried currants and candied peel, for the sensation of sugar melting on his tongue._ _

__"Have you had lunch, Jospon?"_ _

__Thomas nearly starts. Could his thoughts be read so plainly in his face?_ _

__"No, Sir," he answers honestly. He wasn't sure if he had ever met Little's gaze so directly before, and he now found an unfathomable weight behind._ _

__"I wouldn't find it amiss, if you helped yourself to a tea cake." The way he says it is achingly gentle, hesitant._ _

__Thomas has no idea how to respond, and finds himself in a state of relief when Crozier appears in the doorway, flushed red from the cold._ _

__"Ah, Edward. And just in time for tea, it seems."_ _

__Thomas rushes to divest him of his outer coat, and soon Crozier and Little are seated, talking of ice conditions and rations and things that did not concern him. He ducks out politely._ _

__Later, when he goes to clear the dishes from the table, a single tea cake remains on Little's saucer, seemingly untouched._ _

___Neddy,_ Jospon thinks, turning the pet name over in his mind as he bites into flaky, buttery pastry. He decides the sound of it is as sweet and tender as dried fruit._ _


End file.
